Fight's Not Over Yet
by LilyChristmas
Summary: Sequel to 'Like a Bullfighter'. It's been half a year since the awful incident, and both Antonio and Lovino are settling into their new lifestyle as lovers. Everything is going so well, in fact, that it was inevitable something bad would happen. Like a woman claiming to be Antonio's betrothed showing up at their front door, alongside another blast from his horrid past, for example.
1. Domestic

A/N: This is a continuation of 'Like a Bullfighter'. I'd _**strongly**_ suggest you read that first, because it has some key information that you'd miss otherwise. Anyway, on with the fic!

- _3_ _rd_ _Person_ -

The sharp ring of an alarm clock echoed through the large room. It was ear-scraping, and hated by both inhabitants. A lightly-tanned hand reached out, smacking around the nightstand until it came into contact with the accursed device. Whacking it with a tightly curled fist until it silenced itself, the owner of said fist and alarm clock swore in a tired, slurred mixture of English, Italian, and Spanish, before retreating back into the safe cocoon of warmth the amazingly comfortable bed made.

It was only when the clock shrilly beeped again, having hit the snooze button and not the off switch, that the man sat up, angrily pounding until it shut off. Damn, did he hate that fucking alarm clock. The young man ran his hand through his auburn hair, blinking angrily at the time. He reached over, and smacked the older man next to him.

"Oi, bastard. It's time to get up."

Said other man curled deeper under the covers, retreating from the outside world.

"No…five more m'nites."

"I don't think so. I give you five, and you take twenty. Get the fuck up."

The lump groaned again, and Lovino definitely did _not_ squeak as two toned arms wrapped themselves around his midsection, pulling him back into a laying position.

"Can't we just take the day off?"

"You ask me that every fucking weekday, Antonio. And I will always tell you, no."

"But why noooot-"

"What are you, a damn teenager? I have class, and you have work. So get up."

Antonio groaned once more, before giving his lover a peck on the lips and sitting up. Blinking drearily, he ran a hand over his face. It didn't help that the room was chilly, and his bed was warm. He flopped back downwards, wishing for that he could just spend the day with _su amor._ And good food. And _other things~_

But if he knew that if he suggested staying in again, Lovino would flick his forehead, or pinch his nose, or something like that. So he decided to just not ask again, and sadly gave up on his daydream becoming a reality.

These men were Lovino Romano Vargas and Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo, and this is where this story begins.

Sort of.

- _3_ _rd_ _Person_ -

It was a fairly standard Monday for them.

The auburn haired younger male, Lovino, rose out of bed first, stretching his sore muscles. He winced a little at the stinging pain in his backside, a reminder of what happened late night that kept them up so late. It wasn't nearly as bad as when they first began their relationship, so it was more of a nuisance than anything.

He strode over to the closet, one of the top ten best reasons he started dating Antonio (the others were things like free, fresh tomatoes…good home-made food…and maybe a few hugs but whatever). It was now composed of about eight-tenths of his things, because the Spanish simpleton wasn't one for proper, fashionable attire. He had laughed and said that most fashionable clothes weren't comfortable anyway, and that's what he looked for in an outfit. So he only bought clothes when his old ones were worn to nothing, despite Lovino's obvious distaste.

Grabbing his clothes that he had prepared last night, he strode into the bathroom, relieved himself, and hopped in the shower. As it was running, he heard Antonio begin his own morning routine. It had taken quite a bit a cursing, shoving, and eventually bargaining on Lovino's part to get him to stop 'joining him' in the shower. Now it was promised on weekends and holidays, if Antonio got up when he did. It was actually pretty good incentive to get him out of bed on those days. Fucker slept like a brick who had chugged some Nyquil.

- _Antonio_ -

Antonio's friends had teased him relentlessly about how _'domestic'_ he'd gotten, but he really couldn't care less. Yes, he went shopping. Yes, he cooked and cleaned. And yes, he stayed home while Lovino went to school. If that made him a _'housewife'_ , then so be it. But Lovino was fighting an uphill battle in pursuit of his Architectural degree, and was dragging his minor in Business along with him. He needed to be able to focus as much as possible, especially since finals were coming up in about a month.

And he wasn't really needing for money, either, because of his inheritance (which he didn't really like using, but Lovino had made a point that his _abuelo_ had left it for him, and using it didn't make him a bad person),so he sometimes helped Francis at _'L'Iris Espana'_ , and sometimes he helped Gil bartend at _Rebellion._ He had promised Francis he'd help with the morning rush today, much to his chagrin. His friend had been in a panic because one of his main morning chefs was ill, so of course he had volunteered to fill the nine A.M shift in an effort to calm him down. He had told Lovi this, and he had gotten a smack on the head for being _'such a dumbass, seriously? You_ _ **hate**_ _getting up in the morning; don't promise something that hurts you or inconveniences you so readily, damnit!'_

But either way, his days were filled with his friends and his Lovi. Sure, he stayed home. But bullfighting season was over (and his had ended _far_ earlier than others), and he was enjoying the more relaxed change of pace. And he was also enjoying being able to get up at all, because Lovino had all but blew a fuse whenever he tried to do _anything_ after he'd gotten stabbed. It had taken an extra week on _top_ if what the doctor suggested to get him to calm down and let him do things. He still went silent and ran his hand over the small scar it had left, which was a mere few inches from his stomach.

So he was enjoying his days (and nights as well~), living in a domestic haze with Lovino, filled with tomatoes, siestas, and happiness. So when he opened the door in the morning, wondering who could be visiting at this hour, he swung it open without hesitation.

Big. Damn. Mistake.

Aw, _**meirda,**_ Lovino was going to have a _fit._

- _Antonio_ -


	2. Enemies Turned Allies

- _Antonio_ -

He sat across from the two _unwelcome guests_ in the main sitting room, anxiously looking between them and the young Italian by his side. Said Italian was normally very vocal about his distaste and/or irritation. But right now, he was sitting silently by his side, face blank. He winced. That normally meant that he was so enraged on the inside that his inner turmoil couldn't manifest itself, rendering him speechless. Once the Italian calmed down, though, all hell broke loose. He glared at the male who was sitting in his house, looking around in contempt.

"Why is it so bloody drafty in here? It _is_ winter you know. Do you have a damn window open?"

 _Dios mio, did he hate that man._

"No, Arthur. I do _not_ have a window open. My house is just a little older and larger than yours. But you wouldn't know anything about that, right? Seeing as how you live in a magical little cottage in the woods with seven dwarves and your fairy godmother."

Arthur Kirkland, a self-proclaimed magic practitioner, scowled, his frankly ridiculous eyebrows scrunching together.

"Ha ha, you Spanish half-wit. We'll see how much you're laughing when I put a dark curse on you for the next ten years-"

"You sure you haven't already? You just showed up on my doorstep, seems like pretty shitty luck to me-"

"It's not _luck-_ "

"Do I look like I give a flying-"

" _ **OI."**_

They both snapped their mouths shut at the same time, but didn't break their silent glaring. Lovino felt the dark embers of rage burning in his gut, and he didn't know who he wanted to kill first. He picked up on the violent aura his lover was giving off, and rubbed his forehead.

"Look. Just-what do you want, Kirkland?"

Arthur's glare relaxed into a scowl.

"I need to speak to you about some…issues…that have arisen during your absence as the head of the Carriedo empire."

"It's not an absence, you son of a bitch. I'm not going to get involved anymore."

"Look, I get that you feel survivor's guilt or whatever because of what your family has done, but you can't just let your bloody eggs hatch all over the place. Your father's reached retiring age, and is on the run, your brother is in prison, and your men don't know what the hell they're doing."

"They're not-"

"Not your men, whatever. Look. The underground is in chaos, and _my_ group is stuck trying to clean up the aftermath. At least under your ancestor's control it was _organized."_

He felt his face contort. Fucking Kirkland.

"Again. Either way, it has become an absolute _clusterfuck._ And we can't keep a lid on it."

"Serves you right, you backstabbing piece of-"

"It was necessary, you load of-"

" _ **OI!"**_

He silenced again. Lovino glared daggers at the two across from them. Arthur just glared back, while the girl just stared.

"I don't know _who the fuck you are,_ or _why the fuck you're here,_ but there better be a damn good explanation. I don't care who gives it, but if I don't understand clearly what's going on in two minutes, I'm kicking you ALL the fuck out. _Capiche?"_

"Figures you would fall for someone so uncouth, Carriedo."

"Insult my Lovi one more time, and I'm going to get up and break your face, neck, and spine, in that order, you crumpet-eating asshole."

He sighed.

"Lovino, this is Arthur Kirkland, asshole extraordinaire-"

" _Hey-"_

"And my childhood friend, Bella. Who's kind of supposed to be my betrothed."

Bella's face went from blank, to hurt. Lovino raised an eyebrow.

"And they are here because…"

"Because there is a load of trouble you twat. Without the Carriedo empires expansion and control over territories both outside of Spain and within it, other groups have decided to follow in the footsteps of the _conquistadors._ "

He rubbed his forehead.

"One such group is led by Ivan Braginski, and his sisters Natalia and Katsuyasha. He is quite a force to be reckoned with, or so the stories say. He's causing mayhem all across Europe, you understand?"

Antonio groaned. This was it. Lovino was going to run away and never look back. He swore vengeance on that British backstabber even if he died in the process-

"Does that mean Italy, as well?"

All three of them snapped their attention back to Lovino. He sighed and sat up straighter.

"Well? Does it?"

"I mean, yes-but…how, why?"

"I'm from South Italy you English bastard. What else comes from South Italy?"

"…You're connected to the _Italian Mafia? YOU?"_

Antonio's eyes grew wide. He hadn't known that either. He supposed that explained why he was so blasé about the whole ' _I'm a member of a distinguished crime family'_ thing.

"My _Nonno_ is. I grew up surrounded by shady deals and fucked-up happenings. Sure, I was never a _part of it,_ but I'm still a member of the _familia,_ as far as they're concerned. I've never heard of this Braginski asshole, but if he's raising hell across Europe as we speak, then he's a bad bastard indeed."

He got up, and ducked upstairs to their room. He came back with a trunk, which Antonio remembered him saying ' _not to fucking touch, I swear if I see one single fingerprint on this trunk I will cut of your vital regions and feed them to your fucking turtles'._ His curiosity was peaked. Lovino unlocked the trunk, and opened it.

 _Meirda._

It was _full of weapons._

They were all organized, and small. Numerous knives, a few guns, ammo, a garrote, etc. There were also maps, manila envelopes, and _wads of cash._

"Um, Lovi. I just have to ask. What _is_ all of this stuff?"

"It's my emergency kit. Both Feliciano and I have one. It's in case any of _Nonno's_ enemies got any ideas."

"But-"

"Look. If you're being dragged back into the darkness, there's going to be one thing different. I'm coming with you. You're not _soiling me,_ or whatever shit you're telling yourself. Yes, we _are_ going to talk about the whole 'I'm secretly betrothed' nonsense.

He pointed a knife at the other two.

"You. English asshole. I don't know why my idiot doesn't like you, but if you hurt him in any way, I'll gut you. And you. I still don't know what your role is in this, but if you lay a single finger on _my_ Spaniard, you'll have no fingers. Understood?"

Bella spoke up for the first time.

"How _dare_ you! He's _my_ betrothed! We've had a bond since childhood that you and your…your… _fling,_ couldn't _hope_ to replace-"

"Objection. His childhood was completely and utterly fucked up, so under the authority that I gave _myself,_ as his _current, voluntary lover,_ I am rendering this bullshit betrothal null and void. And yes. _I dare._ Try me, bitch. _Just try me."_

Antonio didn't know whether to be scared or aroused, so he just decided on both.

Both was good.


	3. Past (and Present) Secrets

- _Lovino_ -

So after he made his little speech to both of them, pointedly (no pun intended) using the knife (what was it? A stiletto? Why did _he_ have one of those, those were _Feliciano's_ choice) to emphasize how much he was Not Joking, he sheathed the knife, and proceeded into the kitchen to make lunch for their new tag-team.

Only because the Spanish bastard was busy, damn it!

And he didn't know if the other two could cook!

And he wanted to rub how superior Italian food was to their home countries'!

So as he measured ingredients, chopped vegetables, and boiled the sauce, he contemplated on the whole situation, and how he'd been dealing with it. Sure, some might say he was taking things much better than expected. But he had screamed, shouted, and had a general panic attack when his _Nonno_ had finally explained what all the shady-looking assholes were doing in his house. And, against popular belief, he only had a limited about of shits to give about things.

He furrowed his brows. He was going to have to tell the asshole at some point.

It was ridiculous that he didn't want to say. Antonio had sat down and told him all the gritty details about how he was raised (he had wanted to vomit afterwards), and it wasn't much different than his, save for the bloodshed and murder and more bloodshed that went into Antonio's. Lovino's was more…shady than that. Unseen. Unheard. He _was_ a member of the familia, just not the way they all assumed. So he couldn't quite muster up the will to scream at Antonio, or his past. Sue him.

He winced.

But the technicalities of what he did…he could imagine the confused look, morphing into an understanding poker face, and then into an enraged face. Or worse.

A look of hurt, of disappointment, or of utmost betrayal; the face of those who'd been lied to or deceived by someone who they trusted explicitly.

' _Serves you right, you back-stabbing piece of-'_

He winced again. Antonio did _not_ seem like the one who'd take being betrayed very well.

He just stirred the sauce some more, silently wondering if he was going to have to die with this, if it was going to cling to him unflinchingly until he was lowered into the ground. _Nonno_ always told him that power came with a price, and that skills of deception meant strong enough shoulders to carry the weight of all the secrets he kept. Sure, Feliciano had his own share, but Lovino had _many._ It was his…job…to have them. So he just cooked on, trying his best to ignore the twist in his gut; it coming easy with practice. But there was a second one, as well, that wouldn't go away.

He wasa little ( _a fucking_ _ **lot**_ _)_ concerned about this Bella chick.

Sure, he had threatened her with bodily harm. But that was more instinctual than anything. Even his dumbass brother would turn a knife (A fucking _stiletto, that pussy)_ on you at some point; it was how they were trained. He just had a _far_ longer fuse than Lovino did. And she wasn't… _mean,_ per say, or nasty, or even sassy, which would have made it easier to cuss her out. But she instead had the look of a young woman with a broken heart, who was trying desperately not to show it. He had punched the older potato bastard once in the face, when he was drunk, when he had called him _'sensitive, wow, are you sure you're not straight, Toni? Because this guy is way into fashion and cleanliness and feelings and shit',_ but he _was_ more in tune with what people were feeling than most males his age.

He chalked it up to amazing Italian genetics and growing up around Feliciano.

Antonio kept asking her what was wrong, like the damn idiot he was, but she always put on a fake ass smile and said nothing. So he just grinned that damn grin, if a little forced, that dropped immediately when the English bastard called for him to _'get his lazy Spanish arse back in here, I swear, it's like you're a hyper-active preschooler',_ to which Antonio strung together a string of Spanish words that he couldn't quite catch, but from the facial expression and tone, they were _not_ pretty.

He then spat back what he had said in English, _'just so you can understand what I'm saying, Eyebrows~ , it's not like you're_ _ **bilingual**_ _or anything, right?'_

' _I don't need to be._ _ **English**_ _is the_ _ **lingua franca**_ *, _and what you're speaking right now.'_

' _Si, but you're in Spain, are you not? Asking for my help? How long did it take for you and your choppy accent to find someone who could give you directions?'_

' _That's not important-'_

' _A long damn time, is what it sounds like-'_

As the two continued to bicker instead of getting anything done, he face-palmed. He looked between them, to the young woman, back to them, and to her again. Cursing himself for having such a loud-ass conscience, _especially_ towards the suddenly-ex-betrothed Belgian woman looking like she'd rather be anywhere but here. He turned down the heat, and shuffled over to her, tapping her on the shoulder.

"Hey…are you alright?"

She blinked up at him, and smiled sadly.

"I am…fine. A little sad, but it's not like I didn't expect this anyway. But I _am_ surprised that you came to talk to me; you don't seem to like me very much."

Yeah. He called her a bitch at knife-point. Thought that was obvious.

"It's not that I don't like _you._ I don't know you. What I don't like is that all of a sudden there's this girl standing on my doorstep claiming to be my deceptive-ass lover's betrothed."

"I'm sorry for putting you on edge with my last-ditch efforts at self-denial."

"It's…fine, I guess."

She laughed a little.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, it _was_ a pretty loose agreement, just a shot at a truce between our families; an attempt to bring us under the umbrella of protection the Carriedo's offered. And Antonio never really accepted it anyway. But on my end…he was tall, strong, rich, and from a family thrice as powerful as mine. It was a dream come true. And he was so sweet when I could get him to talk honestly. Really, what was a girl to do?"

Lovino sighed. He understood how charming the dipshit could be. Usually unconsciously.

"So I embraced it with open arms. Despite his clear disinterest…I still hoped that maybe it would go somewhere. But that wasn't fair, Lovino. It wasn't fair that I be so incredibly happy while Antonio wouldn't. But I didn't _care,_ as long as I got him in the end _._ Does that make me a horrible person?"

"N-no. It makes you a girl who wanted her crush to like her, albeit on a larger scale. But seriously, you two's childhoods were fucked to holy hell. Anyway, you just wanted him to love you back. I can't get upset about that, no matter how hard I'm trying. _Fuck._ "

She giggled.

"Aw~ how _cute!_ Elizabeta would just _adore_ you!"

A shudder ran down his spine, and he didn't know why.

"I _have_ to send her some photos of you! She's always looking for cute ukes to put into her collection~"

"The fuck is _that?_ And why do you need pictures of me? Hey, I didn't say yes! What are you-hey, stop-the fuck are you doing-I _said_ _ **stop-**_ LEAVE MY CLOTHES ALONE, DAMNIT!"

- _A/N-_

 _ ***Lingua Franca:**_ _the main language spoken internationally when conducting business and such; it's why so many people, even in other countries, speak English._


End file.
